A Love of War
by Makayla
Summary: Following the aftermath of Erskine's death and the collapse of Project Rebirth, Tony moves to the catacombs of London in an attempt to reclaim a sense of purpose. Unfortunately, everyone's favourite super-soldier happens to follow him there. (Stony)


A Love of War

It wasn't wine-red. Too much russet, not enough plum. If he'd been sober, Tony might have called it crimson. Or scarlet. Or vermilion. But he wasn't, so he didn't.

(It was irrelevant anyway; he knew exactly what shade it was.)

Someone had tried to clean it. There were wide sweeping arcs around it that shined a little brighter than the rest of the floor, but she (probably a she) had reached it too late. It was fitting, he supposed. Erskine had always been a stubborn old fool; this was just the proof.

He could have been disturbed; could have flinched away from the reminder of that ringing gunshot. That, he thought, was probably the usual reaction; the _normal_ response - but then normal was not a state that Tony had come across often. So instead, Tony sprawled out next to that smear, poured it a goddamn drink and toasted their fucking success.

"Project Rebirth." he sighed into the empty room. He tightened his fingers around the long tapered neck of his wine bottle, then released them one by one, slowly, so he could feel the pull of his skin as it grudgingly unstuck. "Ironic or prophetic?" He tilted his head back as far as he could, until the peak of the VitaRay machine crested the top of his vision. He rolled the empty bottle beside him idly; the glass making a grating, gritty noise across the cold basement floor. He laughed, a harsh empty sound. "And dying just after you've proved me wrong? I don't get proved wrong very often, you know; you could have at least stuck around to relish the victory."

* * *

"You cannot be serious," Tony exclaimed, staring down at the photograph in his hands.

"On the contrary, Mr Stark, I am entirely serious," Erskine replied mildly as he poured a measure of schnapps into two glasses. "Mr Rogers is my prime candidate."

Tony ran a hand over his slicked hair and scrubbed at his jaw, the bristles of his three day stubble rough against his hand, "He looks like a stiff breeze could knock him flat."

Erskine shrugged and nodded acquiescently, "And he suffers from asthma and a mild heart defect. None of which will matter, of course, should the serum work."

"I'm more concerned about him actually surviving the procedure." Tony groused, "Where the hell did you find him?"

"At your expo," Erskine smiled as if the coincidence amused him, "trying to the join the army for the fifth time."

"The fifth time?" Tony released a low whistle, "Persistent bugger." He flicked through Rogers's file, noting the long list of ailments and glanced over the academic and occupational information. He groaned, "He's an artist? An _artist?_ We want to turn an _artist_ into a super soldier? Does he actually want to join the army, or is he just looking for a fast-track to a dark and tortured soul?"

"Stark, perhaps you could refrain from making judgements about people you are yet to meet, hmm?" Erskine suggested quietly and indignation flared through Tony's mind. He opened his mouth to argue but paused as he took in the stubborn tilt to Erskine's jaw and his challenging glare. Tony had only seen that look the first, and consequently only, time someone had questioned Erskine's loyalties. He had to admit, it piqued his curiosity.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning against his control panel with a liquid grace that belied the intent of his gaze, "You really like him, huh?"

"He is a good man," was all Erskine gave him, his accent rounding the vowels and softening the consonants. Tony shot him a sceptical look, but Erskine was looking away, deliberately flicking through his notes with an overly nonchalant air.

"But you're not sure he'll survive either." Tony commented confidently.

Erskine sighed, "No; but I hope. Mr Rogers has the potential to be everything this experiment was meant to be."

Tony raised his eyebrows, "He must be a helluva kid. Took you three months to warm up to me. Which, you know, shows you have bad taste, because people love me." He threw the scientist a smirk that made Erskine roll his eyes and effectively broke the sober mood that had fallen over them. (If there was one thing Tony hated being, it was sober.)

" _Women_ love you, Mr Stark, for reasons I still do not fully understand." Erskine responded with a dryness that rivalled even his usual acerbic wit and made Tony choke on an abrupt laugh.

"What can I say? I'm irresistible." He replied with a wicked grin. He raised his glass to salute himself and laughed when Erskine pointedly ignored it.

"So it is ready?" Erskine asked, gazing at the Vita-Ray machine that waited in the centre of the room like a promise.

"It's ready," Tony replied with a shrug, "or as ready as it's going to be. There are no more tests I can run."

Erskine smiled, taking a sip of his schnapps. "Then let us hope it is enough."

* * *

Tony sighed again, long and lustily, just to hear the sound resonate through the room. He'd never realised the room had such good acoustics, which was a big, damn oversight considering he'd been working in it for months. Absently, he hummed a few experimental bars before realising he'd chosen the damn record that Erskine used to play all the time. He'd never learnt its name, but it reminded him of all the times they would sit in the lab, a nightcap in hand, too exhausted to talk, and just stare at the same damn machine he was staring at now.

Tony cursed quietly.

"Mr Stark?"

Tony blinked in surprise and turned away from the Vita-Ray machine. There was a breathtaking wall of muscle and sincerity standing in the doorway, dressed neatly in a plaid shirt that was clearly borrowed and a size too small, tucked into nondescript slacks that didn't quite reach his ankles.

"Rogers? What are you doing here?"

"Err… I was… I just…" It was disconcerting to see a man that big shuffling from side to side like a guilty teenager.

Except, Rogers wasn't a man that big. (Even though he was.) Because in his head, Rogers was still just a kid from Brooklyn, with so many physical disadvantages he shouldn't have survived to adulthood and so disgustingly decent that Tony just wanted to drag him to the nearest bar, get him roaring drunk and coerce him into doing ridiculous, illegal things for the sheer thrill of it. Especially if those illegal things involved a bed.

Tony contemplated Steve's shifty stance for a minute before sighing. He was feeling pretty magnanimous so he patted a space on the other side of the stain, "Misery loves company, right? I drank all the booze though, sorry about that. Not that I'm sure it'd work on you now, anyway. Which, you know, sucks for you."

"Probably not a good idea, anyway. I'm shipping out tomorrow," Rogers replied, still standing in the doorway.

Tony's eyebrows rose in surprise, "The Colonel's taking you? I'm kinda shocked because his hissy fits usually last longer than that. And require more dramatic resolutions, like noble sacrifice and feats of great valour." He swung his arm out in what he felt was an appropriately theatrical way.

Rogers ducked his head in embarrassment, "Err… no… not, not to the front line. I, err… I'm going into the USO."

Tony spent a long time processing that bit of information.

Months. _M_ _onths_ he had spent on this project, and Erskine had dedicated almost two decades and his _life,_ and what was the government planning to do with their success? Turn him into a showgirl. The sheer pointlessness of it all bubbled up into wild, raucous laughter that erupted sharply into the empty lab. It was the kind of laugh that left him gasping for breath, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He couldn't stop even when Rogers huffed and scowled, the tips of his ears reddening with anger.

"At least it's something! It's certainly better than being stuck in a lab and unable to do _anything. Again._ " Rogers fumed, his hands tightening at his sides and Tony knew that feeling. He knew how it felt to finally, finally accomplish something, and for it to make no difference whatsoever; knew the special kind of rage that came with recognising your own lack of power, even when the means seemed within grasp. It made him want to laugh harder, and a little more hysterically, but he bit down on the impulse, his mouth pulling instead into a wry smile.

"Pal, you've been in this project for what, three months?" Tony replied unkindly, "I've been working on this goddamn machine for two years. Trust me, you have _no idea_ how fucked up this situation truly is."

"And I've been waiting for 21 years for a chance to make a difference. Now I have one, and I still can't do anything." Rogers retorted sharply, unimpressed. "Trust _me_ , Mr Stark, the disappointment over your _project_ does not compare."

Tony was almost surprised by the heat of the comment. He studied the man with a curious tilt to his head before replying, "Yeah. I can see why he liked you."

Rogers stared at him, derailed, "What?"

"Erskine; he always had a bit of soft spot for the spunky ones." Tony allowed himself a self-deprecating smile at that thought. He turned away from Rogers to stare at the ceiling. "You've got to admit it's pretty funny. Here you are, their perfect super-soldier, and because there's not 300 of you, they're _sulking_." Tony snorted, tugging absently at one of his braces, "And, instead of letting you do something useful, they've relegated you to chorus girl." He tilted his head back to Rogers, "Tell me, have they've fitted you for your skirt and stockings yet?"

Rogers glared at him, "The USO may not be a battlefield, Mr Stark, but at least it's not a cage."

Tony's eyebrows rose and he grinned, "Yeah, you're a real firecracker, aren't you, pal?"

"I am not your 'pal'." Rogers replied smartly and Tony frowned because if he'd been more drunk and less plastered, he might have been able to resolve some tension with this kind of sniping. As it was, Tony had reached that part of the bottle where he was only capable of a good fight or a good roll in the hay. He doubted the mountain of moral fibre in front of him was likely to help with either.

"Suit yourself." Tony shrugged instead and he fixed Rogers with a cool stare, "Don't suppose you've got much reason to be here then, do you?"

"I don't suppose I do." Rogers sneered before, honest to God, about-turning and marching away. It was hard to believe the kid had been a military man for less than six months.

"What a dick." Tony muttered to the blood splatter. He slowly pushed himself off the floor, ignoring the way his head spun as he stumbled over to the sink. He splashed cold water on his face and pretended that it made him feel more sober. He glanced over at the clock and grinned, slow and dangerous. "Now, I wonder what kind of trouble a fellow can get himself into at one o'clock on a Friday night, in the middle of New York?"

* * *

So it hadn't been the most auspicious second meeting, and it had been followed up by a truly atrocious night out wherein Tony had stumbled into the first bar he'd come to, had been refused service and had promptly vomited over the bar in revenge. A quarter of an hour after, the police had stumbled (literally) over his prostate form in the old cliché, and had been kind enough to haul his ass out of the sludge and unmentionables that often occupy such an area and had provided him with a cell in which to "sleep it off". Pepper had not been pleased when she'd been forced to bail him out at 7 am the following morning.

She had, however, been understanding, which he guessed was one of the reasons he was a little bit in love with her.

After that, he _chose_ to leave, even if the rumours or speculations of certain circles suggested otherwise. He couldn't stand New York; its streets and alleyways suddenly dull with unfulfilled promise. So he went to London, flew over barely a week after, because it was as far away as he could get.

The city was grey and hard; ravaged by Hitler's lightening and full of staring, haunted, weary eyes that still refused to yield. The military warren beneath its heavy concrete roads and broken buildings was a living catacomb, where lingering souls clung to the people who worked there. Even Tony had his own spectre, with finely groomed whiskers, a penchant for schnapps and a dry, German accent. Maybe that's why it suited him so well.

Pepper followed him over. She said it was to protect London from his destructive tendencies, but they both knew that it was to protect him from himself. He wished he could begrudge the treatment, but Tony was not so self-deluded as to believe himself a responsible and capable adult. Instead he holed himself up in his lab, worked on outlandish projects like repulsor shoes, radar-detection, self-firing weaponry, remote control fighter jets, vibranium shielding and clockwork soldiers. Some never made it off the page, others lay discarded in various stages of completion across his space, a few he managed to finish, only to shelve them as uneconomical. Gradually, his laboratory became a graveyard for forgotten pipedreams and the army was lucky to see one in twenty of his projects.

Then Captain America made the front page and Tony was suddenly flooded with impossible Hydra technology. He tested it, prodded it and broke it to pieces; he cursed it, snarled at it and smashed it to pieces; he worked and reworked the maths; and – eventually - he came to realise that somebody had performed a scientific miracle and that it hadn't been him.

Then Captain America arrived in London and took over the entire operation simply by entering the room.

Nobody could agree fast enough, comply soon enough, jump high enough. Tony hated them, and hated him, and tried to hide in his lab until he fucked off. Except then suddenly, they didn't want him to make radios that operated from opposite ends of the world anymore. They wanted him to equip Captain America and his band of idiots before they went off to save the world.

"No. I have more important things to do than make machine guns and face masks for morons. And I am definitely not designing uniforms. Do I look like a seamstress to you?"

"Tony, this isn't some government whim. The work of the howling Commandos could be vital to the war effort. If they succeed in their mission, it could be the turning point of the war. This is so much bigger than you, Tony. I know that you know that. I just don't understand why you're being so pig-headed about it."

"I'm not being pig-headed, Pepper. Sure if, _if_ , they manage to take down Hydra, then I'll break out the champagne. Hell, I'll throw a party and maybe I'll even invite them. Until then, I refuse to see them as anything other than a suicide mission. Nobody's ever even gotten close to a Hydra compound, let alone actually taken one out. Just because the star-spangled showgirl knows where they are doesn't mean he'll do any better."

"He trekked through 12 miles of enemy territory, infiltrated a Hydra prison complex, released the entire battalion kept captive there and then led them home. Do you not think that means something?"

Tony glared at her and she returned the stare inflexibly, her perfect victory curls doing nothing to soften the look, "A prison complex is not one of their military compounds. They've been taken before. They're not hard to find, they keep them close to the front line and minimally guarded. They don't care if they lose one of those."

"Fine. Then, what if he finds a military compound and they take that down? Will you agree to work with them then?" Pepper asked, her arms crossed over her impeccably tailored suit.

Tony glared at her, "If they manage that, I'll throw in the vibranium shield."

There was a reason, Tony later remembered, why he'd stopped making bets with Pepper. Damn female intuition.

* * *

"I think we got off to a bad start."

Tony stared at the underbelly of the Hydra jeep he was lying beneath for a few seconds, considering the possibility of Roger's giving up if he just stayed under here. He sighed as he admitted to himself that, if nothing else, Rogers was an obstinate fucker. He pushed himself out from beneath the jeep and sat up. He chest prickled with sweat and he pulled at the damp fabric of his vest.

"Really." He drawled.

Rogers's perfect square jaw twitched. "I think we had both been badly affected by the day's events and were both looking for someone to vent our frustrations upon." He paused as though waiting for a response. Tony deliberately didn't give him one, watching in amusement as Rogers gritted his teeth before continuing, "Therefore, I feel that to harbour any lingering animosity over the past would be childish and would negatively affect our work relationship." Rogers somehow managed to stand a little straighter, his arms held tight behind in his back in perfect military form, "I would like to start over."

Tony shrugged, "Don't bother." He replied bluntly, "I don't." He dropped his wrench beside him and pushed himself off the wheeled stretcher he'd modified to stroll over to the worktop. "Drink?" He offered, picking a bottle of bourbon off the table.

"No. Thank you." Rogers replied disapprovingly. Tony glanced at the clock and smirked as he realised it was nine in the morning. He wondered if maybe he should get some sleep or just find a bucket to fill with coffee. He was sure he'd seen one under a desk somewhere.

"Look, Poster Boy, I'm only working with you because you got lucky and I lost a bet with Pepper." He poured the whiskey into a convenient mug and shrugged. "Frankly, I think you'll be dead within the month so I'm not interested in wasting my time pretending to be nice to you. I'll give you weapons and I'll make you armour and I'll even give you the most expensive shield known to man. In fact," he grinned triumphantly, "I'll post them to you. You won't even have to come and collect them."

Tony stared into a pair of blazing blue eyes and smirked. There was something uniquely satisfying about disparaging a national icon. He was ashamed to admit to himself that it was probably the most fun he'd had in months. He raised his mug ironically.

Rogers didn't rise to the bait, just continued to consider him, his face blank of expression. "Do you blame me?" he finally asked.

Tony froze for half a beat, before taking a drink from his mug. The whiskey was warm and woody on his tongue, but scorched going down in a way that only $100 a bottle could do. "Blame you for what?" He asked as though he couldn't guess.

"For Erskine."

Tony snorted, "For Erskine? You really think I blame you for that screw up? No." Tony shook his head, "Hydra? Certainly. Hitler? Yeah, that asshole can definitely take some of the blame. Our government? Hell yes. But you? You're a circus freak, Rogers, dragged in to entertain the big boys. You were just a convenient setting." Tony replied bluntly, confrontation in his eyes hard and goading.

Rogers smiled grimly, "Then what, Stark? Are you jealous?"

Tony snorted, "Let me let you in on a little secret, Rogers. _You_ are not special. The serum in your blood is special. If anyone was going to be jealous, it would be you, wouldn't it? After all, I've never needed a magic potion to do what I do." Rogers's jaw tensed and a fascinating angry-red stain began to spread across the man's cheeks that made Tony wonder if he was about to be punched.

Instead, Rogers stepped closer to him and sneered in just that perfectly righteous way that Tony remembered from their last meeting. "And what are you worth, Stark?" He breathed out and Tony could practically smell the tang of pipe smoke and starched Edwardian linen, just like he did every time someone called him that goddamn name. "A room of broken toys and forgotten fantasies? Look around you. This isn't a lab; it's a graveyard. When was the last time any of your _brilliant_ inventions made it to the front-line?"

"Well, maybe I'd have more time to build something revolutionary, if I wasn't stuck making bows and arrows for Robin Hood and his merry men." Tony replied sarcastically.

"Really? Because from where I'm standing, you're having a hard time focusing on anything other than your own genius." Rogers stated. Derisively, he flicked his eyes over to the Hydra technology that was scattered, disassembled and undeciphered, through the room. Tony swallowed back the burn of anger at the insinuation that he hadn't spent every waking hour of the bloody day working on those pieces.

"Go to hell, Rogers," Tony growled and this time it was him stepping forward, crowding into Rogers' personal space. Bright blue eyes blazed back. "You know you're a damned joke, right? You're the bedtime story the government feeds to all the boys and girls in their newsreels. You think that chasing Hydra makes you some kind of hero? Bullshit. The real heroes? They're the kids sitting in trenches night after night, trying not to scream every time a shell hits the ground. They don't get to have superhuman strength or supernatural healing. They just get duty and false bravado." It was an unfair speech. Not so much honed into a blade as it was crushed into a fist and Rogers hissed beneath the blow.

"You think I don't know that?" He demanded harshly, "You think I don't wonder every single day what could have been prevented if I had saved Erskine's serum. All the lives I _could_ have saved?" The frustration was almost palatable; bitter, empty and lingering.

"Lives _you_ could have saved?" Tony wanted to laugh at the sheer self-absorbed martyrism of it. "One moment that slipped through your fingers, Rogers. It hardly compares to working with a man for years and _deliberately_ never taking a chromatograph to his work. I never touched it! Not once. All because of some _stupid_ , nascent respect." He spat the last words at the ground, stepping back as it would put some distance between himself and the rage spinning in his mind.

Rogers stared at him incredulously for a moment, the silence between them hard and brittle. Then slowly his lip curled into a pitiless smile, "So we have something in common, after all." He said almost wonderingly. Tony glared at him and poured another drink.

"Screw you." He replied eloquently before slamming it back. He fixed Rogers with a challenging stare, one of his best. "We've got nothing in common," he pressed as though saying it with enough force could make it true.

"No." Rogers agreed, "See, I'm trying to make amends. You've just given up." Then he shrugged and stepped back into the corridor as if to leave, but then he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "You're a bright man, Mr Stark. Let me know when you're ready to get your head back in the game."

Tony watched him leave with a steel mask of indifference veiling the fury boiling through his veins. He deliberately waited until Rogers would be well out of earshot before spitting out "Asshole!" and slamming his foot into the solid steel leg of his worktable. The clang reverberated through the room like the tantrum of a petulant child.

* * *

London burned. She screamed with shrieking missiles and wailed with sobbing machine guns. Torn and shattered, her veins were rivers of rock, blood and home. The air shuddered and black breath billowed from her broken bitumen, a smothering blanket for the battle streaking above. Beneath, life trembled. Fury and fear twisting at its own helplessness.

To Tony, sitting brazenly at the window of his top floor suite, blackout curtains thrown wide open, this artificial tempest suited his mood perfectly. He slugged a generous measure of whiskey into his glass, raised it towards the aerial battle in a silent toast and drank it all in one. He gasped at the burn.

"Tony?"

Tony froze at the quiet, incredulous question and slowly twisted in his chair. Pepper stared at him, her face torn somewhere between horrified and furious.

"What are you doing?"

"It's fine, Pepper. The fighting is miles away…"

"Fine?" She repeated breathlessly, cutting over his words "No, Tony, this…" she gestured round at the room, "This is _not_ fine! This is very not fine! What on Earth do you think you're doing?" She stood in a pristine, grey pinstripe suit, her hands on her hips. Even in the dim glow of his diffused lamp, he could see that her cheeks were flushed with anger, bright pink spots that clashed with her hair

"Pepper…" Tony replied with his most reasonable voice, but Pepper shook her head before he could try any of his usual lines.

"Don't 'Pepper' me!" She ordered forcefully, "Don't you dare! Why are you sitting here, with the curtains wide open, for God's sake? What is this to you?" She stalked around to the window and pointed at the ruined city, "Is this _entertainment_?"

"Of course not!" Tony snarled back, insulted. "This is the furthest fucking thing from entertainment I could ever imagine!"

" _Then what are you doing_?" She demanded desperately, staring at him with wide, searching eyes.

"I'll tell you what I'm not doing!" Tony retorted, jumping out of his chair and stomping over to her, "Cowering away in some godforsaken basement, jumping at every damn noise! I am fed up of hiding from these bastards!" He flung his hand towards the window and the devastation being inflicted on an already devastated city.

"You think you're the only one that feels that way? Do you think I _don't_ know how that feels?" Pepper swallowed, her expression twisting with a pain that took Tony's breath away.

"I'm not saying you don't! This is about… damn it, Pepper! I just don't want to feel so helpless all the bloody time!"

"Helpless?" Pepper repeated incredulously, " _You_ feel helpless? The man who has single-handedly been responsible for dozens of scientific breakthroughs that are saving lives in the trenches right this very second?"

"And all of that means absolutely nothing. As soon as those bastards come flying over, I'm back in that bloody basement." Tony spat back, slamming his fist against the window. Pepper stared at the taut white of his knuckles and her mouth puckered unhappily. When she looked back at him her eyes were blazing.

"And you think being in the field would help? Or being in the air? Maybe you could jump in a plane and take a few shots at them. You never know, you might even take one down before they shoot you full of holes." She sneered with a venomous sarcasm.

"At least I would be doing something!" Tony yelled back, the frustration of it burning through his veins. Pepper was unmoved.

"Well, you know who else is doing something?" She asked him, her voice dangerously quiet. She didn't wait for a response. "My husband." She stated harshly, glaring out at the flashes of bullet fire across the black. "You want to know what helpless is Tony? Helpless is knowing that your husband is out there, in dirt and blood and death, and that he is _killing people_. I haven't heard from him in two weeks, I have no idea where he is or what he's doing. The only reason I even know he's still alive is because they haven't sent me a goddamn telegram!" She blinked furiously, her voice breaking dangerously as she stared outside. "My husband is _killing_ people, Tony. My clever, caring husband." She shook her head as if she could dispel the reality of it like shaking away a bad dream and turned back to face him, "And do you know what I do?"

Tony couldn't reply, had no words for this broken, distraught woman in front of him. This wasn't Pepper, wasn't his strong, beautiful Pepper, and he was stunned, horrified, by how much she had been hiding from him; had been protecting him from. He shook his head silently and she sighed through her nose, low and slow.

"I pray." The words tumbled out in a whisper; a quiet, dirty secret that hung in the air as if unfinished, incomplete.

Tony tried to speak, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He licked his lips, slowly, uncertainly, and lifted a rough, meaningful hand to her shoulder, squeezed a little too hard as if he could somehow transfer everything spinning inside him through the firmness of his grip. Pepper swayed for a second, her head bowing and her golden red curls spilling over her face, masking the tears tracking the curve of her cheeks. Then she was pressed against him, his arms tight around her, and Tony couldn't remember whether she'd stepped forward or whether he'd pulled her into him.

She sobbed noiselessly, her shoulders trembling, and Tony was startled by how small she actually was. Pepper had always been the strongest person in the room, her calm competence and fiery resilience rivalling any other person Tony had ever known. But now, with her slight form enfolded in the circle his arms, he was brutally aware of the needs, doubts and fears that she had always been so careful to hide from him. For him.

"I'm sorry," he croaked into her hair, brokenly, "I'm so sorry, Pepper."

"Shh," she whispered haltingly, her hands releasing their vice on his shirt and smoothing down his back soothingly. Tony wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the one comforting you here," he reminded her. He tried to keep his tone light, but was betrayed by the hitch in breath over the last few words. He felt her smile wanly against his chest and brought a shaky hand up to stroke her shining, perfectly set curls. Her hair was smooth but hard, the product in it breaking a little beneath the drag of his hand. She smelt of tears and perfume and he had never wanted her as much as he did in that raw, intimate moment.

She could sense it, he was sure, because she stilled beneath his ministrations, her hands no longer running along the curve of his back. Instead she placed them against his chest, and pushed herself away gently, looking up at him searchingly. Her make-up had run, traces of kohl and mascara smudged beneath her red-rimmed eyes, and he brought his thumb up to rub it away. Her skin was soft, flushed and perfect; addictive. She inhaled sharply, swallowed and kept him caught in the honesty of her gaze. They admitted everything to each other then, everything they had always known and ignored, everything they would never admit again, and if Tony, for a brief, crazy second thought of saying it aloud, he would take it to his grave.

It was Pepper who pulled away, slowly disentangling herself from his embrace, and the moment shattered with something almost like relief.

"Do you have any idea how scared I was when I realised you weren't in the shelter?" She asked him. Her voice was still fragile, but there was a bolt of steel running through it again - almost normal. "You do not have the right to do scare me like that - even if you are my boss." She offered him a faint smile. Tony swallowed down his guilt and twitched his lips into something more like a grimace than the smile he'd been trying for.

"I'm not going back down, Pepper." He told her resolutely, "I need to see this." His hand clenched tight around his shot glass until her silent, knowing acceptance forced him to turn away. "I am _not_ a quitter." He snarled down at the empty glass.

"You are many things, Tony Stark; stubborn, infuriating, arrogant. But a quitter? No, that you have _never_ been." The fierce belief in her reply astounded him. It was a surprising, intoxicating feeling to have that belief. He'd forgotten how it felt in the weeks that he had buried himself beneath the streets of London, in his Neverland of escapist projects. Now it filled every part of him until it was bursting through his poorly-stitched seams.

She took advantage of his temporary stasis, stalking back across the room, navigating through the dark almost by memory to his glass cabinet. She grabbed a crystal tumbler from a shelf and returned to the table with his whiskey on before pouring them both a drink. "But if you need this, Tony, then I'm not letting you do it alone." She declared, kicking off her heels and settling on the thick woollen carpet with the two glasses in her hand.

He started at the suggestion, "Now, just a minute, Pepper…" he began to protest, but the look she gave him was forceful enough, even in the low lighting, to cut him off halfway. He took the glass she held up to him and sank down next to her, facing the battle that had raged on without them. In silence, they stared out across the blackened streets and watched the skyline burn.

* * *

There was a tangle of strawberry blonde in front of him, the strands prickling the corner of his eye and stuck to the inside of his lip, and his nose was full of a warm, female musk that he would remember to the day he died. He breathed it in deeply.

Pepper was awake; he could tell by the shallow rise and fall of her chest beneath his arm. He hummed gently, a wordless good morning, and waited for her to speak. She didn't. She stayed quiet, her face tucked beneath his chin so he couldn't see her expression, and Tony resigned himself to ignoring the aches of a body that had spent the night on the floor.

Behind her, the sun was battling with the ubiquitous grey cloud, casting blocks of gold across the carpet before disappearing seconds later. Tony watched this struggle with a disinterested eye for a long time, his arm wrapped around Pepper's waist and his hand rubbing her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He let his mind drift, his thoughts falling, unerringly, inevitably, back to the impossibilities lying dormant in his lab.

Outside, London stirred. Its citizens crawled out into the grey sunshine and clambered over their ruined streets to work. Its children snatched uniforms left half-washed the night before, laughing and shoving their way through the crowds. Its strays, its dispossessed and dissolute, scratched through the meagre waste that Austerity Britain allowed, the bitter morning biting at their weathered skin. Its criminals sidled back into the shadows, their misdeeds fading with the black. Its cleaners began the impossible task of fixing the damage, praying that it's only shattered homes, not shattered bodies that will need clearing today.

Tony was oblivious to it all. The light intermittently spilling across his carpet had transfixed him.

He didn't even notice Pepper shifting in his arms until she was raised up on an elbow, blocking his view of the dust particles dancing mockingly through the air. She was watching him expectantly, her mouth half-quirked into a smile.

Tony inhaled through his nose slowly. The air was cool and dusty. "What?" He whispered up at her.

"I can hear you thinking." She murmured back, still half-smiling. Her curls sprang free and bushy over her shoulder and there wasn't an inch of suit without a crease on it. Tony imagined she would be mortified when she noticed.

"That would explain a lot actually." Tony replied with false consideration.

Pepper laughed, "No. I wish. It would certainly make my life easier if I knew in advance which crazy scheme you were hatching up next."

"You say that as though you don't enjoy my crazy schemes, Miss Potts." Tony raised his eyebrows and leaned up on his elbows. "Just imagine the ennui you would have to endure without them."

"I do, Mr Stark. Often and with avid longing."

"That hurt, Miss Potts. Genuinely. I felt it here." He placed a hand over his heart. "I think I need a drink. To dull the pain."

Pepper rolled her eyes as he rolled to his feet, watching him disapprovingly as he grabbed a discarded glass from the night before and poured a finger's worth of whiskey from the decanter on the side table.

"Breakfast?" He offered, holding up an empty glass.

"No. I prefer my breakfast solid." She sassed, climbing to her feet and trying, ineffectually, to smooth the wrinkles out of her skirt.

"Suit yourself." Tony shrugged.

"Are you going to tell me what you've figured out?" Pepper asked, her tone still crisp.

"You know, you have a remarkable talent for subtlety." Tony informed her glibly, "I need to go to the lab. I need to see the Hydra weapons again."

"Tony, all you've been working on for the last four months are the Hydra weapons."

"Yes, well, I think I had a eureka moment, only without the bath, which is a pity because I could probably do with one."

"You could." Pepper replied frankly.

Tony shot her a wounded glance, "Ouch." She grinned back and he scowled, "I need to run some tests."

"Ok." Pepper nodded, fixing a bobby pin in place. She glared down at her suit as though she could scare the creases into submission and then looked back at him, "Let's go then. We'll get some proper breakfast on the way."

* * *

His coffee ran out in the first week. Pepper had been rationing it because it had gotten harder and harder to source, particularly after they had moved to this rain-soaked, wind-blasted island with its god-damn obsession with tea. He'd allowed the rations at the start. He was an intelligent man, he could see reason when he wanted to, but this project was not a one-a-day kind of job. Ideally, if he could have managed it, it would have been more of a one-an-hour kind of job. As it was, he became so engrossed in the machine that chunks of time just seemed to vanish halfway through a cup. Freezing cold coffee is an acquired taste and that week did a lot for Tony's acquisition.

However, even a fluctuating time stream wasn't enough to stop the inexorable dwindling of his coffee beans. He supposed he should have been grateful it lasted as long as a week, but it was half past midnight and he'd been up since 5 and he was in the middle of planning out a vital component when he found himself staring mournfully into at the bottom of his last cup of coffee. Gratitude was not really at the forefront of his mind.

The first office he'd searched had been fruitless. Just that damn tea and some canned milk. The second had boasted a cheerier loot in the form of a half-drunk bottle of gin that Tony felt, as a member of senior staff, was his duty to confiscate. The third was unexpectedly occupied.

"Dr Stark?" The soldier was hunched slightly, wearing slacks and a shirt partly unbuttoned in the humidity of their underground hideout. He looked tired in that frazzled, mental kind of way that Tony remembered from college.

"Captain Rogers." Tony returned the greeting warily, torn between wanting to evacuate the situation immediately and wanting to find out why the Wonder Soldier was sitting alone at a desk dwarfed by his engineered stature, with ink stained fingers and a single gas lamp for company. "You're up late." He heard himself comment stupidly. He blamed the coffee deprivation.

"So are you." Rogers rejoined blandly and Tony cursed himself when he realised he was now trapped in making conversation unless he was prepared to leave the social ineptitude hanging in the air.

"Ah, reports?"

He was pretty sure that move just dug him deeper.

"Erm, yeah." Rogers confirmed. Tony was surprised, he had expected more animosity. (And if he was even honest, he probably deserved it). Instead, Rogers just scratched his nose, leaving a faint blue streak behind, illuminated by the warm glow of fire.

"Fun," Tony returned with some diminishment of his usual wit and his gaze bizarrely fixated on the ink on Rogers' nose. He wasn't sure what compelled him, but Tony found himself strolling over to the desk, his pace slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world and was just looking for a way to fill it. He peered with affected indifference at the papers spread over the scratched and tarnished wooden surface while Rogers watched him warily, as if expecting some cutting remark.

"Don't you have a secretary or something to do this for you?" Tony asked as he studied Rogers' perfect cursive. The corner of a sketch peeked out from beneath the other sheets and Tony itched to pull it out for closer scrutiny.

"Some of us have to do our own grunt work," Rogers answered belligerently, which Tony thought was damn rude considering he'd spent the week breaking down his old projects and fighting Philips over the necessity of his newest idea. "Besides, it's classified. I doubt Colonel Philips would be too happy with a report full of blank spaces where crucial information should be."

"Alright, pal," Tony retorted, "I was just trying to help." He snagged the drawing that had caught his interest with an almost vindictive satisfaction in knowing he was invading the man's privacy.

Rogers frowned, "And that's also classified." He added stuffily.

"Relax, ace. My security clearance is top level. It's higher than yours, that's for sure." Tony shot him a superficial grin that made Rogers clench his jaw. Tony took satisfaction from that too.

He finally glanced down at the sketch in his hand and his eyebrows hitched a little higher involuntarily. The devastated landscape was rendered in quick, sure lines; smoking ruins sprawling out towards the viewer, its rubble a jagged, shaded outline but its location painstakingly detailed. The time, date and co-ordinates had been printed neatly in the top left-handed corner.

"Huh," He grunted thoughtfully, flipping the page over to find, in true make-do spirit, more drawings; this time of a modified Hydra tank and the inside of one of their SUVs, its twisted, blackened edges suggesting that Rogers had noticed it only after it had been the victim of dynamite. The image was still astonishingly complex, detailing what could be seen of the exposed pipes and wiring. It was similar to the SUV that had been carted into Tony's lab, but showed a few notable upgrades. "Were these drawn from memory?"

"Yes. What of it?" Rogers replied obstinately, staring at the drawing as if he was about to grab it back.

"They're good is all." Tony shrugged as if it hadn't felt like he was chewing off his own tongue to admit it.

The compliment seemed to throw Rogers off too, like he still wanted to be angry but his manners wouldn't let him, "Well, they're not perfect," He muttered, "I just caught a glance of that SUV and the tank was a little far away for detail if I'm honest. Of course then someone must have hit the self-destruct because we'd barely made it through the door before the ground started rumbling." Rogers rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, "It all got a little hazy after that."

Tony studied at him out of the corner of his eye, kept silent as Rogers leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes with a sigh. The shirt he wore wasn't quite worn in, with a starched collar that had left red marks along his neck. There had been a tie. Tony could see it draped over the back of Rogers' chair, an Army-issue brown one that had probably been given to him at the same time as the shirt. He wondered if Rogers actually owned any clothes that hadn't been given to him by the government.

Rogers rubbed his neck again and Tony found his gaze caught by the flex of the muscles in his forearm. For a brief minute, he wanted to reach out and feel them shifting beneath his palm, but he tossed the impulse back into the inane, coffee-deprived part of his brain it had come from and looked back at the sketches.

"What are you like at drawing from descriptions?" He asked, laying the paper back on the desk.

"I was an illustrator, Stark. That was basically my job description." Rogers informed him testily.

"Yeah, but were you any good?" Tony demanded.

"I like to think so." He permitted as if fighting with his usual modesty.

"Good. I want you to draw something for me."

Rogers pinned him with a sceptical stare "Maybe I read something wrong here, but I got a pretty clear impression that you didn't like me. Why would you want _my_ help?" He challenged. Then hearched an eyebrow as if to add _and why would_ ** _I_** _want to work with_ ** _you?_**

"I'm not the sort of person to overlook something useful just because someone's uptight and righteous, ace. Besides my tech can save the world and you love that kind of do-gooding." Tony asserted.

"…what tech?"

"Come with me."

"What is it?" Rogers breathed, staring up at the confusion of pipes and multi-coloured wires.

"Oh, that's… a dummy. Don't worry about it." Tony replied, hastily pulling the dust sheet back over the machine.

"Then, what did you want me to look at?" Roger asked, looking around the newly de-cluttered lab, "That's the only machine in this joint."

"I couldn't get it through the door and I don't have time to break it down," Tony told him impatiently, "Now forget about that and look at these." He strode over to the single desk left in the room, a broad, sturdy, British feature, covered with messy piles of paper, a selection of protractors and pencils, coffee-stained cups, dirty plates and, to the side, a single, empty coffee pot. He strategically grabbed a few pages from the mess and thrust them at the soldier currently blessing him with a sideways stare. Rogers took them carefully, glancing down at the scribbles over sketches over scribbles.

"It's… not what I'm used to." Rogers acknowledged.

"Yeah, I skipped Technical Drawing at college." Tony admitted, "There was this girl and she had free period during that class, so..."

"Didn't you go to college at fifteen?" Rogers queried, his eyebrows raised. He looked like he'd heard too many soldier's tales to give his much credit.

"I was an early bloomer." He answered defensively.

"Sure you were," Rogers smirked. Stark was tempted to wipe off his face with a comment about the non-existent love life of an asthmatic runt, but decided did actually want someone to do these drawings for him. Colonel Philips had been on his ass for a week to get some physical plans to show and Tony didn't understand how the Colonel didn't get just how far down the ladder-of-things-he-gave-a-damn-about drawing plans for brown-nosed officials actually was.

And again if he was honest, it had been a long time since he'd spoken to anyone who was brave enough to call him out on his shit. _Rhodey, you bastard, you better be alive and giving those Nazi pilots hell right now,_ he thought fervently.

To give the man some credit, Rogers scoured every detail of the plans he'd given him before he looked back up, "Well, to be honest, I don't understand most of it, but I think I can figure out how to draw at least half of it. My technical drawing's a bit rusty, we didn't do much at school and I wasn't that interested, but I'm willing to try if you'll go through it with me." He declared sincerely.

"Done." He proclaimed before Rogers could change his mind and held out his hand.

Rogers's palm was soft, like he'd never wielded a gun or thrown grown men against the wall, but his handshake was firm, almost too firm, like he was used to having to grip a bit tighter to make an impression. (At least that's what Tony remembered from the pale, little boy they'd warily strapped into the VitaRay machine.)

"Ok, so what does it actually do?"

Four hours later, they were looking at a completed outline and Tony was almost startled by seeing it all laid out in one cohesive whole, after obsessing for so long over the details. In a way, he'd been thinking of it as a hypothetical machine, as if he couldn't quite believe that it could work. Now he could visualise it; could see each section and how they would work and how they would connect and how they would run in tandem.

Working through it with Rogers had been more help than he would ever admit. The page was littered with rubber markers from an adjustment there and an amendment here. And Rogers was efficient. And sharper than his brawn gave him credit for. And sometimes he was funny too, in a dry sort of way which made Tony think he'd spent too much time around the Tommies.

Rogers stretched then, the muscles in his back shifting intriguingly beneath his dress shirt. He looked relaxed in a way Tony had never seen before, sleeves rolled up, shirt loose around his neck. He wondered if this is what Rogers' men saw in him; not the Captain, but the man. All loose-limbed in downtime, a smile quirking at his lips.

"What time is it?" Rogers rumbled, twisting his neck to look for a clock. Tony checked his watch.

"A little after five." He murmured back and the subdued tone made Rogers look back at him curiously.

"Home time then?" Rogers asked and Tony couldn't help but feel jealous that Rogers wasn't even suffering a little red-eye after a night spent staring at notes, machine parts and scattered diagrams. Perks of being a super-soldier, he guessed.

"No point. I'm back here at seven." Tony replied with a shrug. He reached past Rogers to pick the plans off the desk, trying to focus his blurry eyes on the lines. Failing miserably, he peered over the top of the paper to find Rogers watching him expectantly. "Weekly inspection," he added by way of explanation, "Gotta make sure my scientists aren't gonna blow the whole place to hell."

Something shifted under Rogers' expression and Tony wondered what it meant.

"Well, I suppose we better find you some coffee, then." Rogers announced and the expression was gone, replaced by a teasing half-smile that felt strangely intimate, as if it was meant for someone else and Tony had just happened to get in the way. It sent an unpleasant confusion of mixed emotions through his head that Tony quashed immediately, a familiar mask falling into place as he silenced them.

"Ain't nowhere gonna be open at this time at night, Rogers," he drawled, a little harsher than he needed to be. Rogers didn't seem to notice.

"The mess hall is."

Tony frowned, "The mess hall closes at twenty hundred, Rogers and not a second later because we all know you military types have a thing for precision."

Rogers rummaged in a pocket for a second and pulled out a ring of keys. "Perks of being Captain America."

"You realise the coffee in the mess hall isn't much better than dishwater, right?"

"You saying no to coffee, Stark?" Rogers challenged, his rehearsed All-American accent slipping into Brooklyn. Another crack in the armour that Tony felt off-balanced witnessing.

"The hell I am, pal." Tony replied on auto-pilot, already rising to his feet, "Dishwater it is."

* * *

It didn't become "a thing". Not that Tony even wanted it to. In fact, he didn't see for Rogers until a general meeting at least three days after that; it might have even before four, it's not like he'd counted. The point was, they weren't friends, but that old animosity between them had suddenly disappeared, leaving a strange empty space that was uncomfortably full of potential.

So when the next Captain&Co. mission came around, Tony felt kind of relieved. He'd never liked uncomfortable situations, after all he had a reputation to uphold as a smooth-talking,egotistical business tycoon and ladies man. It took them almost a month to come back from the mission, enough time, Tony thought, for him to shed the weird awkwardness that was hanging around him. A baseless thought, he discovered as soon as Sergeant Barnes waltzed into his division.

The target exploded and Tony whooped in delight.

"What d'ya think of that, Foster?" He shouted, turning to the scientist in the observation deck.

"Remarkable," her voice scratched over the intercom, "Of course, we'll have to fine-tune the sensors to get more accurate data and source some sturdier targets, but I would say preliminary results look promising."

"That's what I like about you Foster, always thinking ahead," Tony replied glibly.

"Thank you, sir," came the distracted reply, which told Tony that she was already planning the upgrades. He was about to return the Hydra gun to its case when he caught a glimpse of a figure leaning against the doorway. He was casual and cock-sure, with sergeant's stripes barely visible on his navy blue uniform.

"You must be Sergeant Barnes." Tony placed the gun gently into its box, but didn't shut the lid just yet.

"The one and only," Barnes smirked, "Was that a Hydra gun?"

"Keen eyes. I guess that comes in handy for your line of work," Tony replied,"You know it's funny; I don't remember you having clearance for this level."

"It must've slipped your mind, Doc. I'm sure you've got more on your mind than trivial bits like that." Barnes drawled.

"Oh, I've got the feeling the explanation is far more likely to be about 5'6", black hair and red lips with some impressive…assets." Barnes didn't reply, just shrugged and this time it was Tony's turn to smirk. "You might wanna watch out for that one. Ask your Captain about her one day."

" _Steve?_ " Barnes exclaimed, his swagger dropping away for a moment in surprise, "Has he been holding out on me?"

"Let's just say there was an incident, involving a dark corner, some filing cabinets and one very amused red-head." Tony told him, deliberately obtuse.

Barnes released a sudden, bright bark of laughter and Tony was appalled to discover he liked him.

"So what can I do for you, Sergeant Barnes?"

"Actually, it was Steve it was looking for. He said he would come down this way to check out your research, if he got out of his meeting early."

This time it was Tony's turn to be surprised. He hid it quickly, turning away to fiddle with the Hydra gun and shrugging, "Sorry, pal, haven't seen the Super Captain all day." The tap of heels against the floor made him look over Barnes' shoulder and he couldn't help the smile Darcy strutted towards them, her black hair rolled, her red lips conspiratorially tweaked, and her assets shamefully concealed by her army-issue uniform.

"Hey there, soldier," She called to Barnes, "Your Captain is looking for you. Told him I'd seen you heading towards the canteen and not into unauthorised space so you owe me a big bar of chocolate." She informed him.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Tell you what, how about I give that to you tomorrow night?" He replied with a crooked grin which, as an experienced owner of the same, Tony knew was a favourite with ladies.

"I don't know what you've heard about me, Sergeant," Darcy replied severely, "but I'm certainly not the kind of girl to say no to chocolate. Meet you at the dance hall at seven. Wear your glad rags, soldier; can't have you showing me up now, can we?" She winked.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," Barnes replied, his grin getting, if possible, even more crooked. He turned to Tony, "Guess I better shoot. Nice chatting, Doc."

"You too, Sergeant." Tony replied, a little chagrined to realise that he meant it.

Barnes snapped them a sharp salute that was more for Darcy's benefit than Tony's and disappeared in search of his wayward Captain. Tony watched him go before turning to Darcy with a raised eyebrow.

"He better not interfere with your work." He sniffed with false imperiousness. Darcy laughed and patted him on the cheek.

"C'mon Tony, I don't _work._ I am here purely to answer telephone calls Jane doesn't want to answer and to make sure she eats three meals a day. And bathes. Interruptions like Sergeant Gorgeous are what break up the monotony of the day. Not that I don't love you, Jane!" She singsonged the last bit loudly, looking up at the observation deck.

"I'm perfectly capable of remembering to take a bath." Foster crackled in response.

Darcy arched an eyebrow to suggest that she thought otherwise and Tony grinned at her, "You're my favourite PA. Are you sure I can't steal you? We'd have a scream."

Darcy looked horrified, "God no, then I'd actually have to work!"

* * *

Tony had spent the rest of that afternoon looking over his shoulder for Rogers and simultaneously cursing himself for doing so. Rogers hadn't shown. He'd turned up the next day instead, stepping over the debris in Tony's personal lab unannounced like he'd been there a thousand times.

"Just thought I'd see how you were getting on." He'd said cheerfully, as way of explanation. It was enough to throw a man off his game.

"Ah, you know, I've only almost blown up London once all week, so I'd say: not bad." Tony had quipped wanly and had been given more of a laugh than he expected.

"That's not how Colonel Philips sees things."

"Well, Colonel Philips wouldn't know progress if it came up to him in a red dress with thigh-high man probably still owns a carriage." Tony had groused. "The thing with that clerk guy was totally his own fault for distracting me."

"Actually, I hadn't heard about that one." Rogers had revealed as if he'd actually quite like to and Tony had been pretty sure that up until that point he hadn't wanted to do anything that might lengthen the visit, except then he'd found himself launching into the story with extra-black sarcasm and accompanying expressions.

Rogers hadn't left until nearly an hour later.

Of course, they hardly had regular meetings. The Commandos were in high demand, following the trail of Steve's Hydra base map. But Tony started turning up to their mission briefings, personally supervising their kit. Nobody mentioned it, but Tony could see the smile in Rogers' eyes. And whenever they made it back to camp, Rogers always made an effort to check in; usually with one hand full of coffee, cigarettes or cafeteria food.

Even worse, Barnes kept turning up to talk sweet nothings at Darcy and always seemed to make that an excuse to swing by and check out whatever Tony was fiddling with at the time. Not that Barnes himself was the problem; the problem was that Tony couldn't help asking him questions about Rogers, which he was always happy to answer. Tony knew that Rogers had never had a real date, that he loved to the draw but had still been determined to join the dockworkers until an asthma attack had got him fired and that there were more alleyways in New York containing the blood of Steve Rogers than there were stars on the American flag.

Unexpected as it was, Tony found himself getting used to having his space invaded by a couple of New Yorkers. And though he'd never admit it to another living soul, he even started to enjoy it.

* * *

Of course, eventually, a mission had to go wrong.

46 hours after the Howling Commandos' contact had proven himself to be a double agent and the whole group had gone dark, Tony was hammering the hell out of some steel parts in a makeshift blacksmith's fire. Not that it was something he couldn't have had made for him, but frankly he just needed to hit something. Hard. And the ringing in his ears was a welcome distraction from actual thoughts.

His right arm burned with the exertion and he was soaked in sweat, his vest more like a second skin then a piece of clothing, because the fire made the whole damn room scorching hot. The fan circulating the air out of the underground base was working overtime and the bandana tied over his mouth was barely enough to keep him from the choking on the smoke. His eyes stung with tears as he glared through the fumes at the bright red-white metal he was battering.

The sound of his hammer was so loud he almost missed Darcy's opening repartee.

"So this is what you do for entertainment," She called over the din, "and you wonder why I don't want to be your assistant."

Tony stopped mid-blow and stared at her. At first glance, she looked just the same as always – unshakeable Darcy with her blouse a few buttons too low and her lips a red smirk, but the skin around her eye was tight.

"Not a good time, darling," Tony told her shortly and slammed his hammer home. "I'm not exactly fit for company."

"You're never fit for company." Darcy informed him, her words a little sharper than usual and without her usual smile. "As it turns out, I'm not exactly fit for company either." She admitted after a pause, her breath exhaling in a long sigh

"If you're here looking for comfort, doll, seriously, I'm not in the mood."

"I'm not looking for comfort, asshole, I'm looking for whiskey. Everybody knows you snuck a stash in past Colonel Philips." Darcy glared at him, "and don't call me _doll_."

Surprised, Tony laid down his hammer and weighed up the pros and cons of a drinking partner right about now. "Alright." He finally said. He stripped off his gloves and moved to the cabinet at the far end of the room. He pulled out the bottle he'd hidden inside and gestured at the coffee cups on his desk. "S'long as you don't mind drinking outta them."

"I'll manage." Darcy replied tartly, grabbing two of the deeply-stained china cups. "But I'm not staying in this shithole. Were you going for the Dante's Inferno look?"

"Well, I am devilishly handsome," Tony conceded, but his smile was sardonic rather than rakish and Darcy was unimpressed with the attempt.

"Come on, the break room's empty this time of day."

"It's daytime?" Tony queried without actually being interested in the answer.

"Seriously?" Darcy replied with raised eyebrows, "Do you even know what day it is? Just how messed up are you, Stark?"

"Wow, you can put the claws away now, Lewis." Tony ordered as he joined her at the doorway.

"I told you I'm not fit for company. If you've got a problem with it you're welcome to stay here. I'm happy to drink alone."

"Nobody's drinking my liquor without me." Tony informed her dryly and stepped ahead into the break room.

Darcy lit up a cigarette as soon as they stepped inside, inhaling sharply like she was just chasing the burn. It was followed swiftly by the whiskey that Tony poured into her cup. Tony swallowed a sharp gulp of his own, his nose wrinkling at the combination of alcohol and old dark roast. He picked up the cigarettes Darcy had left on the table and knocked one out for himself.

"Jesus, why does anyone drinking this piss?" Darcy cursed in distaste.

"Your first whiskey, darling?"

"I'm usually more of a gin and tonic girl, but any port in a storm, right?" Darcy admitted, gamely slugging back another dram.

"Well, I'd whip you up a Manhattan, but we're a bit lacking in ingredients." Tony noted, before sucking smoke into his lungs.

"Don't worry, Stark, I think my delicate sensibilities can handle the rough stuff for one night." Darcy lay back on the couch, cigarette in one hand and whisky cup in the other. If she were in black-and-white, she'd look like a movie star sulking through a melodrama piece.

"Glad to hear it." Tony declared, raising his cup in a toast. They drank in a silence for a few minutes, only breaking to pull in long, satisfied drags of smoke. But, despite her claims of being unfit for company, Darcy couldn't keep quiet for long.

"Ok, so I get why I'm drinking myself to oblivion, Stark, but what's got you cut up? Don't tell me you've started to get attached to them boys." She looked over at him curiously, taking in his lazy sprawl and dark expression.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually devoid of emotions, Lewis. I wouldn't be here at all if I didn't give a shit about anything. I'd be back in the States getting filthy rich off weapons contracts."

"Touché." Darcy stewed for a bit, taking another sip and another drag, before sighing loudly, "God, why have I always gotta be that girl?"

Tony didn't respond. He hadn't lied when he said he wasn't in the mood for trying to comfort anyone. It was hardly his forte on the best of days, let alone today.

"Look but don't touch, girl, that boy's gonna die. That's what I told myself. But it barely slowed me down, did it?" She laughed ruefully.

"You certainly didn't let it stop you," Tony conceded.

" _Fuck!_ "she cursed the ceiling, glaring up at the cracking paint as if there were a Hydra soldier hiding beneath it.

"You've got a filthy mouth Lewis." Tony commented mildly.

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment." Darcy looked him up and down, "Though talking of filthy, you look like you've hiding in the coal store for the last two days. Please tell me you're going to get a bath after this."

"Only if you promise to wash my back," Tony countered instinctively and was sure it had been the wrong thing to say as soon as it was out of his mouth.

Except, Darcy didn't get angry. She gazed at him indeterminably, her lips pursed around the rim of her whiskey mug. "That would depend…" she replied slowly before tipping her cup back and taking another swig of his whiskey. She placed the mug back on the table, eyes still watching him, "…Are you going to wash mine too?"

This was a familiar path for Tony and because he didn't know a way to take it other than hurtling down it at break-neck speed, his mouth answered before his brain could. "I'm a gentleman, Miss Lewis, I always pay my debts."

She kissed him then, her hand grabbing the back of his head and her mouth hot and insistent. It had been a while since Tony had been kissed like that and it took him by surprise when he realised that he didn't want to follow it to its inevitable conclusion. That he was worried about the morning after and what it would mean for the two of them. That Darcy meant more to him than just an amusing co-worker with good looks.

He pushed her away gently, "Actually, Darcy, I don't think this is a good idea." He confessed slowly and he wasn't sure who was more surprised, Darcy or himself.

"Are you kidding me, Stark?" She asked incredulously, angry lines failing to mask the hurt.

"Trust me, I'm as shocked about it as you." Tony told her, his expression pulling into something strange. You'd think that by 35, he'd have felt all the expressions his face could pull but it seemed Tony was learning a lot about himself tonight.

"Oh really." Darcy replied flatly, "Or am I just not good enough to join your legion of supermodels and movie stars?" She spat, pushing him away from her angrily.

"Oh wow, have you got it wrong." Tony back pedalled rapidly, "Darling, if you were just some Hollywood tart I would've kicked you out the minute you came sniffing round my liquor." Tony told her firmly, staring her down to make sure she got the message. "But you gotta know, this ain't a bridge we can cross without scorching the whole damn thing to _ash_."

Darcy was scowling at him but she didn't actually argue. Tony decided to push his advantage.

"Look, I've made a lot of stupid decisions in my life, Darcy, and I mean _a lot,_ because I never thought about the consequences. And seriously, this is a decision you would really, _really_ regret."

There was silence for a really long and uncomfortable amount of time before Darcy suddenly released an exasperated sigh, " _Dammit!_ I must be a real mess if I'm taking life advice from Tony The-Tabloid-Star Stark." It was a pretty lacklustre response for Darcy but it helped unwind some of Tony's tension nonetheless.

"Yeah, well, you don't get a middle name like that without a lot of experience." Tony joked, trying to get a smile.

She burst into tears instead.

30 minutes and several awkward backpats later, Darcy was sleeping on a breakroom sofa that was too small for her and draped in a rug in lieu of anything actually resembling a blanket. Tony, meanwhile, was working his way through another glass of whisky and attempting to coerce himself into catching a few zees himself.

He was back in the lab before the last swig was dry on his lips because he knew that the truth was that he could either work until he dropped or drain that damn bottle dry.

* * *

Of course, the Howling Commandos were not dead. They had, if you believed the way Rogers had phrased it, not even been in danger from much other than their own army rations. Things had got a bit hairy at the start, but they'd skipped town pretty quick after the whole double agent fiasco. They'd then spent a couple of weeks trekking through dull forest until they'd reached a known liaison for the French Resistance, who had smuggled out a message out to London. Almost entirely uneventful compared to any usual Commando mission.

Tony had heard the news with composure and he could admit that he'd rather have the idiots alive than not but he felt he was pretty immune to death and war by now and he certainly wouldn't have said he was overwhelmed by relief or anything. Just mildly pleased of the opportunity to give them all a good ribbing. He gleefully prepared a cornucopia of sarcasm and jibes relating to their woodland vacation and kumbaya-and-campfire-filled evenings and was waiting to unleash them just as soon as they were all back in London. He joined the crowd squeezed into mission control to welcome them back with a smirk of anticipation.

The whole cocky troupe sauntered into the debriefing room, Captain Apple-Pie at the helm and he caught Tony's gaze with such a genuine smile that it took Tony's breath away. Something grabbed at Tony's chest. He didn't know what it was, just that it was so strong he was almost shaking with it; that he almost wanted to stride across the room, grab that All-American jawline and press a desperate kiss against that smiling mouth.

Except, without the 'almost'.

It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about it before, usually late night, in the privacy of his hotel room and fantasies, but he'd never thought about it like _this._ Not as something _real_.

Suddenly the room felt smaller and it felt like the air around him was being stolen by all the people squeezed in around him. The exit seemed further away than before, which didn't make sense because he knew he hadn't moved but physics seemed to be shifting around him and he knew that if he just got of this room it would be better. He shuffled past his coworkers, who were all listening to Colonel Phillips' perfunctory 'welcome back' speech, and then strode out of the door. He didn't stop until he was in his lab with some tactile job in his hands.

Rogers found him a few hours later, cleaning underneath the machine, because he'd run out of anything else to do ages ago.

"Why are you polishing your machine's backside, Stark?" he asked, squatting down and peering under at him. By now, that overwhelming feeling has gone but Tony still felt a kick when he recognised the voice. He shoved it down.

"Because I take pride in my work, Rogers. Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it ain't there and all that." Tony informed him breezily as if he hadn't just built the outside of the Vita-Ray machine out of any old bits that had happened to be lying around.

"I noticed you skipped out on the debrief pretty quick there." Rogers commented. His tone sounded light but in a careful way, like he was trying to hold something back.

"I saw you come in didn't I?" Tony defended,as he rolled himself out from under the machine "besides who wants to sit through two hours of camping stories? I'm a busy man, Rogers. This machine has been eating up all my time." He patted it fondly and stood up. Rogers lifted himself out of his squat to stand eye to eye to him. Tony tried to focus on the fact that one of Rogers' eyes was slightly higher than the other.

"I can see that. If I remember the plans right, this thing looks ready to go,and two weeks ahead of schedule too." Rogers sounded had no desire to think about why that made him want to smile, so he pushed that feeling down too.

"Yeah, well without you and your merry band of morons around to badger me with pointless questions, I've had a lot of spare time on my hands." Tony quipped, though the words didn't hold much heat. In fact, Rogers just started laughing at him.

"Well, me and a my badgering morons are just about to head down to the pub to finally get a few pints of beer in Dugan before his withdrawal gets any worse."

Tony couldn't stand still any longer than about two minutes so he'd snagged the coffee off his desk and taken a gulp. He realised his mistake when nothing went into his mouth. He sincerely hoped Rogers had noticed he'd tried to drink out of an empty cup.

"Don't you get bored of watching them get drunk?" Tony asked in an attempt to mask his embarrassment.

Rogers shrugged, "It's a tradition." There was a slightly awkward silence for a while as neither of them could think of anything to say until Rogers eventually bit the bullet, "So… do you wanna… come along? I'm sure the boys would like a drink with notorious Tony Stark."

"I don't need a pity-invite, Rogers. I'm a big boy now; wipe my own ass and everything." Tony responded unfairly and was rewarded by Rogers rolling his eyes dismissively.

"It wasn't a pity-invite." He said seriously, his tone lowering and his eyes steadily holding Tony's sudden glance and not letting him look away. "If you'd stuck around to listen, you'd know it was your tech that saved our hides. To tell you the truth, I don't reckon we would have made it back without it. Least I can do is buy you a drink."

"Oh." Was Tony's eloquent answer.

And that was how he found himself in a bar, surrounded by gregarious thank-god-we-made-it-back-alive soldiers and slugging back the weird warm British ale that was starting to grow on him. Though possibly because he was topping up his and everyone else's glass with whiskey under the table. It's likely he'd just destroyed his taste buds too much to care.

The Howling Commandos were a bizarre team of people who shouldn't work but did. Dum Dum Dugan was the clear dominator of conversation; everything about him was loud, from his voice to his ridiculous moustache. In contrast, the British one, Falsworth, was quiet but gloriously sarcastic in ways Tony couldn't help but admire. Meanwhile, Jones was always ready with some unbelievable story of his escapades with his old uni friends, which were always derided in French by Denier and it was still somehow funny even though no-one understood but Jones and, it turned out, Rogers.

There was one noticeable omission from their party.

"I see Barnes had better things to do this evening," Tony had noted after the necessary pleasantries.

"Yeah, some urgent business came up," Dugan had replied with a large salacious wink and a belly laugh that made his walrus moustache twitch. Tony had been distressed to find that he'd liked the man instantly, despite him being little more than a mass of good-natured testosterone.

"I bet it did," Tony had agreed with a wink of his own, "I'm disappointed to be honest, I was looking forward to the protective older brother speech I was gonna give him later tonight."

"You'll just have to wait until tomorrow." Rogers had told him with false sympathy

Tony had waved his hand dismissively, "It's not as fun if you're not both so drunk that you have to hold each other up."

"Well, if you makes you feel any better, Bucky's already had more than his fair share of them speeches so he knows the drill," Rogers had informed him, "but I'm fairly sure Darcy wouldn't appreciate your effort anyhow."

"Yeah and I'm pretty sure it ain't necessary anyway," Gabe had added, "You should've heard him talking about her while we were trudging through that damn forest. Pretty sure he thought that if we didn't make it back, she'd come France herself just so she could chew out his ghost for standing her up."

Tony had chuckled and then lifted his glass into the air, "I could see her doing just that. To Miss Darcy Lewis and our absent comrade, may they be having an enthusiastic reunion." He had said with mock-sincerity to gales of laughter. His companions had given a raucous agreement and taken long swigs from their spiked beer.

"Y'know," Dugan had said after wiping his moustache with the back of his hand, "I always thought yer were just a stuck-up rich kid, but you ain't half bad, doc."

Tony had decided not to take offence. Especially when it'd lead to another hearty toast to him "not being half bad". From across the table, Rogers had caught his eye and smirked like everything was going exactly as he'd planned. Tony had tried not to think too much about what that meant.

Once they'd started toasting, the Commandos had kept finding more and more ridiculous reasons to raise a glass, up to and including Dugan's magnificent moustache, until they'd drained their glasses. After that, Morita had pulled a pack of cards out his pocket and the next round had dissolved into drinking games that Tony hadn't played since university and resulted in everyone utterly smashed except for their fearless leader. Which is the only excuse Tony has for joining Gabe and Jacques in an impromptu can-can dance which got them kicked out of the pub.

They wandered for a bit until they found another bar but they were refused entry so settled for a small cabbie cafe that was already serving breakfast at 2 in the morning. Unfortunately they were thrown out before they could eat anything after Dugan tried to re-enact the kick that he'd delivered to their backstabbing liaison and sent a table and two cups of tea flying across the room.

Tony was having trouble walking without weaving at that point, so when the guys decided to cut their losses and set out back to base, Rogers, who was still sober as a church mouse, was volunteered to get him safely delivered home.

"Don't wancha' to accid'nt'lly walk y'self int' the Taymes!" Dugan declared magnamiously.

"It's the Thames, _Teh-ems._ " Falsworth stressed behind him vainly.

"Oh yeah? Then why's it spelled with an 'a' and not an 'e', wiseass?" Dugan retorted.

"Alright, time to go, boys." Gabe intervened good-humouredly, "We'll see you later, Cap! Now let's try and keep it quiet, shall we? The good people of London are tryin' to sleep." He steered away Dugan, who had an arm wrapped tight around his shoulders,and waved jauntily at the two guys behind him as the whole group traipsed off towards their bunks. They were barely three-feet away when Dugan started up a boisterous song about a girl and her amorous suitor.

Tony laughed delightedly, "You just can't keep a good man down!"

"Or in this case, quiet." Rogers replied like he was annoyed but he was grinning all the same.

"Also true," Tony admitted; the two words slurred together nicely. He slapped Rogers on the back soundly, not that the super-soldier felt it "So you gonna get me home, cap?"

"I would, but I don't know the way to your hotel." Rogers replied, looking at him with an amused expression disturbingly similar to one that Pepper sometimes gave him when she woke him up after he'd fallen asleep under his latest pet project.

"Good point, it's this way… I think"

After a few false turns, an incredible sandwich from another cabbie cafe and a taxi ride later, they made it back to Tony's apartment. Sobriety was already starting to return to Tony's brilliant brain and was promising to be a real bitch come morning. That being said Tony was strangely awake. His night-time adventures with the captain had been, amazingly, fun. Tony had expected Rogers to be judgemental and annoyed by his drunken antics, but he'd seemed the exact opposite, encouraging his flirtation with the pretty waitress in the café and laughing when he was soundly rejected.

Therefore, it is entirely impossible that Tony hammed up his level of intoxication a little when they clambered out of the cab outside of his hotel, leaning on Rogers more than necessary and singing the song Dugan had taught him despite remembering only half of the words. Rogers, who'd asked the cab to wait for him, sighed loudly.

"Actually, this might take longer than I thought." He said, pushing some coins into the cabbie's hand.

"Oi, I was gonna do that." Tony protested.

"Then you owe me." Rogers replied smugly.

"You're entirely too sober right now, cap." Tony told him seriously.

"Yeah I've thought that a couple of times tonight myself." Rogers agreed, "C'mon, lets get you in."

"Ooo, Rogers, are you coming up for coffee? I didn't realise it was going to be that kind of night." Tony declared with an outrageous wink as he swaggered into the hotel lobby, snapping a salute at the porter holding the door open for them.

"I'm not one of your floozies, Stark. It takes more than a drunken pass to steal my virtue."Rogers replied, herding them towards the elevator. Stark punched the button for the top floor. (Apparently after midnight, guests were expected to operate the lift themselves.)

"Oh, you're a dinner-and-a-movie kind of dame, are you?"Tony leaned back against the elevator wall and tilted his head back to look Rogers with a smirk.

Rogers didn't miss a beat, "Who are you calling a dame? I'm a classy lady, thank you very much."

"Apologies, ma'am, won't happen again." Tony grinned, "so what time shall I pick you up?"

"At seven, of course. And expect me to be late, I gotta fix my hair before we go." Rogers made sweeping movements over his perfectly groomed mop.

Tony nodded sagely, "Sure, sure, a lady is always fashionably late after all."

"And it better be a good restaurant, Mr Stark, I want to be wined-and-dined."

"Pretty demanding, aren't you?" Tony laughed and Rogers laughed back at him, his eyes creasing into that bright, genuine smile that always caught Tony off-guard.

"Well I'm worth it." Rogers sniffed

Tony almost choked on his own spit. He barely managed to reply through his laughter. "I just bet you are."

"You don't believe me?" Rogers questioned with false indignation.

"Whaaat? Obviously I'd wine and dine you any day, cap!" Tony exclaimed, hoping he just sounded hammered and not genuine.

"Sure, soon as I grow a rack I'll take you up on that," Rogers replied as the elevator came to a stop and they crossed the hallway to the only door on the whole floor. Tony fumbled a bit with his keys but eventually he got the stupid lock to play ball and let them in. As they stepped into Tony's suite room, Roger let out a long, low whistle.

"Damn, Stark, this must cost more than a month's wage per night!"

"Eh." Tony replied with a dismissive flap of his hand, "You've seen nothing yet, Rogers. Wait till you check out the bed." He waved for Rogers to follow him as he headed towards the bedroom. And no, he wasn't going to think about Rogers and his bed in any way that wasn't acceptable in a family comedy sketch show.

"Wow…" Rogers breathed as he stepped in behind him, "You could fit three people in that thing!"

"It has been known to happen." Tony admitted unabashedly despite Rogers' frown. "Hey! Not here, obviously. Give me some credit - I've been working. There have been zero shenanigans in this bed, I promise. Sadly. You should try it out though, seriously - it's like sleeping on clouds."

"You sure?" Rogers asked, though he was already heading towards the bed.

"Yeah, sure, knock yourself out."

Rogers sat down gingerly and started grinning immediately," Oh, wow," was all the warning he gave before flinging himself backwards like a little kid, arms akimbo. Tony figured it would only be polite to join him. Honestly.

"Oi, budge up, Muscles."

"I can't believe you sleep in this all by yourself Stark."

"Don't have to sleep in it on my own, tonight" Tony winked again, this time with the exaggerated head motion and everything.

"Careful, Stark, or I might start to take you seriously." Rogers replied with a smirk."Besides, might be worth it for a night in this bed."

That response did nothing for Tony's resolution to stay totally clean-minded. "If you weren't so Apple-Pie-and-the-American-Dream, I might start to take you seriously too," Tony retorted in what he hoped was a joking tone.

Rogers rolled his eyes and looked away, "I'm not all Apple-Pie-and-American-Dream, Stark, I'm just a guy trying to do his part. I'm nothing special." He told Tony's bedside cabinet.

"Sure, Cap, and when you bleed, it don't come out with stars and stripes." Tony replied, but it was only half-mocking.

"It really doesn't." Rogers sighed, "I guess I'd better go. There's that demo at your lab tomorrow morning, right? You probably need to sleep off some of the hangover before you do that."

"Nah, I hate doing those. Too much pandering to men in shiny, brass buttons. I've got one of my people on it." Tony confessed, closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling of just lying down. Unfortunately it just made him feel dizzy, so he opened them again.

"It's a good thing you're a genius, Stark. People wouldn't let you get away with so much crap if you weren't."

"Yes, well lucky for me, I am," Tony responded. He wondered if another glass of whiskey wouldn't help himsllep and that started a plan forming in his mind, " _Which means_ I've got some quality liquor here, real strong. It'd be a shame to waste a golden opportunity to see if it really is impossible to get you drunk, don't you think Cap?"

Rogers paused mid-turn and looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, "That sounds like a waste of what I'm sure is quite expensive whiskey."

"It's not a waste! It's a scientific experiment; I'm curious to see just how strong that metabolism of yours really is. I'll even have a few alongside you so you don't feel lonely."

"You definitely don't need to drink any more, Stark." Rogers argued, shaking his head.

"Nobody needs to drink more, Rogers, we just do it for fun." Tony countered, pushing himself up.

"And severe hangovers."

"Well as the Chinese say, without yin there is no yang, or is it the other way round?"

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter either way."

"No doubt you're right," Tony conceded, already heading towards his not-so-minibar. "Come on, Rogers. Have a little fun."

Rogers sighed but it sounded far too theatrical to be real as far as Tony was concerned, "Fine - but only because I'm worried you might try and drink it yourself if left unsupervised."

"Swell!" Tony declared as he pulled out a few bottles of his favourite whiskey. Let it never be said that his hotel didn't take good care of him. He placed the bottles on the bedside table and gestured back at the king-size, "Now, I think the key here is speed."

Fifteen minutes later of vigorous encouragement, Rogers winced through his last shot and Tony was a couple of glasses more worse for wear than before.

"Feel anything now?"

"Nope… wait, maybe? Nope, I think I just need to use the bathroom."

"Dammit, that was three bottles of whiskey! How much booze does it take to beat your metabolism? Your liver must be a machine."

Rogers laughed, a bright, relaxed sound that had an infectious quality; Tony found his lips quirking up even though he was trying to pull a serious face. "You only have yourself to blame for that."

"Not only myself," Tony protested as he flopped back onto the bedsheets. Rogers followed suit and Toyon had to resist the urge to move towards him because the man radiated heat like an electricity generator did.

"Well, I might not be drunk, but I am pretty tired. I should head back to base, it must be almost dawn already. I might be able to grab a few hours before I've gotta start them reports." Rogers stated wearily, though he made no move to actually leave.

"Why am I not surprised you don't put out on the first date, Rogers?" Tony joked. He propped his head up on his hand so he smirked down at the man.

"This is your idea of a date, Stark?" Rogers drawled with raised eyebrows

"Hey, I've had some pretty successful dates involving drinking challenges." Tony argued.

"I can only imagine," Rogers laughed, giving him that genuine grin, and as usual, Tony couldn't help but notice how it made the corners of his eyes crease and his cheeks flush happily. Which, along with that stupid whiskey, was his second excuse for what he said next.

"Don't I at least get a goodnight kiss?"

To Tony's astonishment, instead of saying anything, Rogers just leaned up and on instinct, Tony's eyes flicked closed. He jerked when he felt Rogers' lips…

…press against the top of his head. Rogers pulled back with a smirk, "There you are. Goodnight, Stark."

"You've never had a successful date, have you Rogers?"

And that's when Tony kissed him.

It was a monumentally bad idea. So monumentally bad. And he realised just _how_ monumentally bad it was immediately because Rogers froze, his lips parted in shock and Tony pulled away so quickly he almost toppled over onto his back.

"Stark…" Rogers began but Tony panicked and steam-rolled him before he could get any further into a sentence.

"Wow, I'm so drunk. _Really_ , _really_ drunk. And you know how really drunk people do really weird and stupid things? Well, that was one of my weirdest and stupidest things ever, so let's just pretend that never happened and you can go back to base to get some of that sleep you were talking about earlier and we can never speak about this ever again."

"Err, right, yeah, OK." Rogers had never looked so awkward as he stood up from the bed. He backed up slowly, which was no doubt some instinct wanting to put some distance between himself and the drunk on the bed. "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow I guess."

"Yeah, sure, see you then."Tony tried to sound nonchalant but he had a pretty strong suspicion that he failed. He forced himself to keep a smile on his face until Rogers turned and finally, finally left the room. At which point he collapsed on his bed with a long, low moan of anguish. And he knew without a doubt that he would regret this even more come morning.

* * *

He almost forgot. There were a few glorious minutes of feeling nothing but the dizzying waves of nausea and the splitting pain of a dehydrated headache before he caught sight of the three empty whiskey bottles on his bedside table. The memory crashed down on him with full force and with unforgiving clarity. It was actually the only thing of the night that he could remember distinctly.

And after it'd remembered, his mind began an endless loop of the whole humiliating affair that lasted all through his shower, his attempt at a morning coffee and his subsequent offering to the porcelain gods.

The phone rang just as he was thinking about giving up on the day altogether and going back to bed. He briefly considered ignoring it, well, maybe more than briefly. Then he remembered that Colonel Philips had a direct line to his hotel and if he missed that phone call Colonel Philips would get very creative.

Of course, it wasn't Colonel Philips. It was Pepper and she sounded amused.

"So, I heard you had an interesting night."

"So why are you calling me at.. God, what time is it? Are you kidding me? It's 8.30 a.m. Pepper, I went to bed four hours ago."

"You never sleep in on a hangover Tony, so you can stop the martyr act and get to work. You have the demo at 10, remember?"

"What? I thought Foster was handling it?"

"She is but if you don't at least show your face then upper-management is going to start thinking you're a joke the R&D department has made up."

"Did I forget your birthday?"

"What?"

"Your anniversary? Your mom's birthday?"

"Tony, you've never know my mom's birthday, what are you blathering on about?"

"I'm just trying to figure out why you're so intent on ruining a perfectly good hangover day."

"Oh, Tony. Just get here." The dial tone buzzed in his ear as the call disconnected and Tony listened to it for a while as he considered how much he didn't want to face Rogers today weighed against the fiery wrath of his former assistant. The fiery wrath won.

* * *

Let no one say Tony Start couldn't turn up the charm when he needed to. The observation deck was abuzz with high ranking officials and over-medalled stiffs and Tony met each of them with a smile. He couldn't remember any of their names but one thing he did appreciate about the military is that they came with a version of name tags. "How are you, General, its been a long time," "Good morning, Admiral, how's the navy these days?", "Hello, General, I heard your flyboys are giving the Luftwaffe hell.", "Sorry Prime Minister, no smoking during a demo, just in case, you understand. Might I interest you in Scotch instead? It's five o'clock somewhere, right?"

Of course, there were a few less savoury characters too.

"Not overseeing the demonstration yourself, Stark? A night on the razzle, was it? Or did you promise that bit of skirt five minutes of fame for a roll in the hay?"

"I know this might surprise you, Hammer, but some of us don't need offer bribes to get a date. Also you've been spending too much time with the natives.

What there wasn't was Rogers. Apparently Captain America's pay grade was high enough to be aware of the demo, but not high enough to actually attend. In an emotional move that made no sense whatsoever, Tony felt disappointed.

Foster's demo went well, of course. Tony had coached her personally and the machine was one of his inventions after all. It integrated with the slither of the Tesseract they'd recovered and replicated its energy perfectly. Under usual circumstances, Tony wouldn't be that interested in reverse-engineering but in this case, he allowed himself a measure of pride.

There had been congratulations and back slaps all round and then Winston Churchill had joined him in his rarely-used office for another dram of Scotch and a rather good cigar. Tony had passed out on his couch as soon as the old bulldog had left and had woken up ravenous at 9pm.

All in all, there were worse ways to spend a day, but there were certainly better ways to spend a Friday evening and Tony planned to take full advantage of their mind-numbing, memory-stifling capabilities. And so he hit the ritziest joint in town that wasn't his own hotel and swaggered in his swankiest suit like he own the place. All it took was a few name-drops and a bottle of champagne to find himself in the company of several beautiful ladies, one of whom was an American middle-aged widow with a suite upstairs.

Foster's demo went well, of course. Tony had coached her personally and the machine was one of his inventions after all. It integrated with the slither of the Tesseract they'd recovered and replicated its energy perfectly. Under usual circumstances, Tony wouldn't be that interested in reverse-engineering but in this case, he allowed himself a measure of pride.

There had been congratulations and back slaps all round and then Winston Churchill had joined him in his rarely-used office for another dram of Scotch and a rather good cigar. Tony had passed out on his couch as soon as the old bulldog had left and had woken up ravenous at 9pm.

All in all, there were worse ways to spend a day, but there were certainly better ways to spend a Friday evening and Tony planned to take full advantage of their mind-numbing, memory-stifling capabilities. And so he hit the ritziest joint in town that wasn't his own hotel and swaggered in his swankiest suit like he own the place. All it took was a few name-drops and a bottle of champagne to find himself in the company of several beautiful ladies, one of whom was an American middle-aged widow with a suite upstairs.

"All good things must end some time, darling," Was all Vicky had said in her clipped, cultured accent when he'd told her duty called.

He returned to the catacombs refreshed and armoured with a fresh conquest to laugh off any mention of the drunken interlude between Rogers and himself. In fact, he was ready to claim he barely remembered getting back to the hotel, let alone anything else. He got straight back to work; fiddling and tweaking his models. Now that the big demonstration was over and the bigwigs were happy, Tony was free to work on his personal project and he threw himself into it happily. He even hummed to himself.

Of course he kept a look out of his shoulder for visitors, but he saw no-one until the following day and when he came, it wasn't exactly who he'd expected it to be.

"Geez, doc, what is it? Some kind of armour against machine guns? No offence, but I can't see our boys in muck going for that, it's gonna rust like hell in the trenches." Barnes declared as he strolled in unannounced.

"Hello to you too, Sergeant. I hear Darcy's pleased to have you back. She's been whistling." Tony responded. He'd looked up when his visitor entered, but seeing who it was, he'd gone back to his ministrations.

"And I heard you were shacked up with some rich broad for the weekend, so I guess we're both doing well in the ladies department." Barnes noted, though he didn't sound as light as joke.

"I guess we are. Did you come by so we could exchange congratulatory back slaps or something?"

"Not exactly." Barnes smiled as he leaned against Tony's desk and flicked over some of the plans there. "I guess I just wanted to check something. See, I've heard some stories about you, doc. I mean your weekend stunts are practically cannon fodder for the gossip columns back home. And everyone knows most of it's shit, papers'll print anything that's got a hot whiff of scandal."

"Is this little speech going somewhere, Barnes, or are you about to express a secret life-longing to be a gossip columnist?" Tony replied impatiently, "Want an exposé of my sinful weekend?"

"Nah, I'm no writer. That more Steve's thing, you know, the creative stuff. I ain't clever, but I ain't stupid either. And I'm a sniper, we're a pretty observant bunch." Barnes picked up a nut from the bench and started tossing it between his hands nonchalantly. He seemed casual but Tony was starting to get a bad feeling about this little talk.

"Well, if you're so observant, maybe you've noticed I'm busy here." Tony told him told him with more than his usual serving of sarcasm.

"Well, I wasn't _that_ observant. It took me a while if I'm honest. Anyway, since Steve became 'Captain America' I've had to get used to people wanting to ask me about him all the time. It was a bit of hit to the ego, to be honest. Dames just weren't interested like they were before." Barnes signed dramatically and then grinned. "Not that I need to worry about that any more, of course."

"I should hope not." Tony agreed. He was starting to see where this conversation was heading and it was definitely Darcy related so he decided to say his piece too. "Actually I was hoping to talk to you about that sometime."

"Yeah I heard," Barnes laughed, "ironic, seeing as I'm here for the same reason."

 _Now_ Tony was sure where this conversation was going. He spread out his hands defensively "Ok, let me stop you there. Firstly, that isn't what 'ironic' means and secondly, Darcy and I, there's nothing, alright. I know the gossip columns paint me as some womanising playboy and as much as that _is_ true, I'm not a total asshole. I'm not gonna be making any moves on your lady."

Barnes laughed again, "As much as I appreciate that, I know Darcy'd probably throttle you just for trying."

Tony swallowed down the uncomfortable memory of what had and what had almost happened in the break room just two weeks before, but he was firm believer in 'what they don't know, won't hurt them', despite how that made him sound, so he kept his discomfort off his face.

"Nah, it ain't Darcy I'm thinking about. I'm here to talk to you about Steve."

His mind had been so focused in one direction that Barnes' curveball swung round and hit Tony straight in the face, throwing him off his guard completely. "What?"

"Look you ain't the first guy I've met who's a bit queer. I even tried myself once, though it didn't take." Barnes shrugged as if to prove just how little he cared. "It doesn't bother me. It's like my ma always said, 'if it ain't hurting anyone, then mind your own business, Buck'. Of course, she was talking about our lodger's weird obsession with taxidermy, not sodomy, but I took it to heart."

"Look, I don't know what you think you've 'stumbled on', Barnes, but let me tell you now; you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Steve told me what happened." Barnes elaborated, which unsettled Tony more than he wanted Barnes to know. He couldn't help but wonder what Rogers had said; whether his face had been pulled into an expression of disgust. With effort, Tony managed to scowl irritably even though his heart was pumping like he was being pursued by a herd of stampeding bulls.

"Look, if you spoke to Rogers, then you know that it was just a stupid joke that went too far, Barnes." Tony retorted. Barnes looked at him as if Tony were a disappointing son. It was an expression that Tony had actual first-hand experience with and did nothing for improving his mood.

"Yeah, Steve actually believed that story, by the way. Thinks you got freaked when he didn't push you off right away." Barnes paused as if expecting a response, but Tony did the smart thing and kept his mouth shut so Barnes continued, "But anyway, it got _me_ thinking about a story I saw about you and the son of some English toff. Of course, they never came out and _said_ anything. No newspaper would be dumb enough to risk _that_ lawsuit, but there was _a_ _lot_ that they didn't say, you know?"

Barnes gave him that look again, but Tony was hoping that three strikes were enough to get him out of this conversation. Unfortunately they were not. Barnes sighed like he was explaining something to a particularly dim-witted toddler.

"Look, you got a boner for guys Doc, that's your business. But you got a boner for my best pal? Well, then it's my duty to come and say a few words."

Tony tried one more time. "That old story again? Sorry to disappoint, Barnes, but you're flogging a dead horse. So, thanks for the little blackmail tip about your trip to Fairyland, I guess we're level on the dumb drunk stories scale. I really feel like we've bonded. But I'm not some flit hell-bent on corrupting your precious Captain."

Barnes started laughing then, "Hey, Doc, maybe before you throw your assumptions around, you should ask me who I took my 'trip to Fairyland' with exactly. And it turned out he liked the scenery a helluva lot more than me, if you get my drift." Barnes lifted his eyebrow meaningfully and waited for Tony to respond. He didn't get much of one as, for once, Tony was actually speechless.

"You mean…"

"Yeah, I mean. That's why I was always setting him up with those girls. Was hoping one of them would be pretty enough to get his attention, but I guess he is what he is." Barnes shrugged, "Anyway, I promised Darcy dinner and dancing - the girl's insatiable - so I best be on my way. See you around, doc." He whistled as he headed to the door, clearly pleased with himself. Apparently he was also unable to resist one last parting shot, "He liked it by the way."

* * *

There was no working after that. Tony poured himself a glass of whiskey as soon as Barnes was out of the door and was halfway through it before he even really noticed. It was one thing to worry that Captain Righteous had suspected some deviance; somehow, and Tony was pretty sure this was only his brand of crazy, it seemed much worse to think that the Captain was not only deviant himself but also _interested._ His mind was ripping itself apart trying to calculate vectors of possibility without any information. Like, had Rogers liked it because he just wanted something fun or was he interested in something more serious, like long-term serious, and in that scenario was he expecting Tony to be something kind of wife in this situation, or did he want Tony to keep him like some secret mistress with a plush apartment, gifts of Italian suits and pocket money for silk ties, gold watches and leather shoes? Was he being ridiculous? Should he be stocking up on platinum cigar cases?

And that was before Tony even tried to consider what _he_ was feeling for Rogers. Except for the occasional late night fantasies, Tony hadn't thought he considered Roger anything other than a mildly-tolerable work colleague until four days ago when he'd walked into the briefing room after being 'dead' for two weeks.

It wasn't like Tony was great at introspection as it was, but when it was thrown into combination with brave, honest, friendly and built like a Grecian Olympic athlete, there was nothing faster to drive him to the nearest alcoholic beverage. It was perhaps inevitable then that by this point, he was halfway through his whiskey bottle and bloated with Dutch courage.

He went looking for Rogers.

He didn't find him, though he did terrify a few underlings in the search. His nervous energy kept building up and releasing in bursts of rage which no doubt had everyone in the base convinced that there was soon to be a Stark-Rogers showdown of epic proportions. Luckily, Pepper caught wind of the wild beast roaming the halls of the catacombs and came to tame him. She ordered him out of the base and into a taxi with directions to his hotel. Tony spent the ride back muttering angry insults about the cause of his frustration, which made the cabbie look back at him suspiciously and ensured that no diversions were made for a few extra pence.

When they reached the hotel, Tony overpaid the driver and waved half-heartedly at the doorman as he opened the door. He was halfway across the lobby when he heard his name. Turning back he saw the object of his search standing stiffly in front of the main entrance, hair rebelling against its gel and wearing his dress uniform.

Tony tried to tell himself that the combination wasn't devastating but gave up when Rogers ran a hand through the dishevelled mess on his head and started to walk towards him.

"Erm, they said you were looking for me."

Tony didn't know how to respond to that without blurting out the situation to everyone in the vicinity, so he went with, "How did you get here so quickly?"

"Oh, I, uh, I just jogged here." Roger replied a little shiftily. Bolted here, more like, if his hair was anything to go by. A part of Tony was mortified to discover he was flattered. "So, what was it you wanted?"

"Err…" Tony answered, because the public lobby of one of London's poshest hotels was really not the place for this conversation, "How about we go up to my suite?"

"Sure."

The elevator ride was awkward to say the least, especially when Tony realised he had no cash to tip the bellboy with and Rogers had to fish out a sixpence. They got at the top floor and Tony had deja vu as an annoying tremor in his hands made it difficult to get his door open but they did eventually manage to get inside. As soon as they were, Tony threw himself down on one of the armchairs, leaning back as if he was totally comfortable with this situation. He only wished he had a glass of something in his hand.

Rogers sat down on the sofa next to him cautiously, as if expecting it to detonate at any moment.

"So, err, you, err wanted to talk?" Rogers prompted and damn if the guy didn't look like he was lining up for his turn in front of a jury. Suddenly just wishing for a drink didn't seem enough and Tony jumped back up.

"Where are my manners? Fancy a drink?" He asked as he made his way over to the small kitchenette in the corner.

"Sure," Rogers agreed hesitantly.

"Whiskey? Cognac? Gin? What's your poison?"

"Err, just a soda if you've got it." Rogers sounded almost apologetic.

Tony rummaged in his mostly bare cupboard for a minute, "I've got some tonic water? To go with the gin, you know."

"Yeah that's fine."

Tony poured the drinks as slowly as he could, his thought process a flurry of furious flow diagrams as he tried to imagine the best course of action. When he'd been buzzed on alcohol, he hadn't worried about what he would do if he actually found Rogers, but seeing the man in the lobby had been more sobering than drinking 5 cups of coffee and dunking his head in a bucket of ice water.

Unfortunately he couldn't pour drinks forever and eventually he had to head back over. Setting the tonic water down on the glass table in front of Rogers seemed to be make far more noise than it should, especially in contrast to Rogers' quiet thanks. He sat back in his armchair, mentally wincing at every whisper of leather. Tony took a long draw of his drink whilst Rogers stared at his. Neither of them said anything, stewing in silence until they both tried to speak at the same time.

"So…"

"Well…"

"Oh, good ahead."

"No, no, you were first."

"No it's alright, I don't mind. You were the one looking for me after all."

"Oh, yes, right, I was." Tony fell silent but no air sirens or telephone calls came to save him so he swallowed and tried again, "Well, I was gonna say you didn't have to come all this way."

"Oh, well, people said you were angry, so…"

"Angry? Ah no, just, a bit drunk, you know." Tony answered as if getting drunk alone on a Monday afternoon was something everyone did. He wish he could himself in the head for such a stupid comment. Luckily, Rogers was a nervous as he was and didn't bat an eyelid. (Or it was equally possible that he just thought Tony was a raging alcoholic.)

"Oh right, I guess I look a bit strange then, run…jogging all the way here over nothing. I thought… erm, never mind."

"Well as you're here, do you want to eat? They do a mean lobster bisque." Tony wished he could swallow his own tongue. Anything to stop himself from _talking_.

"Ah…No thanks, I should probably head back. Still got those reports, you know." Rogers leaned forward in preparation for leaving and it occurred to Tony that if Rogers left now, all those vectors of possibility he'd been agonising over would be voided, that if Rogers walked away and Tony didn't stop him, then that would be the end of it and they could, kind of, go back to way things were before. He also realised that he would be a coward.

"Actually, there was something…" Tony swallowed nervously, picking his way through his words like they were rigged to explode, "Your pal, Barnes, came to see me today."

The words had a potent effect, causing Rogers features to freeze into a wary waxwork. "Bucky came by?"

"Yeah, seems he heard I wanted to talk to him about Darcy."

"Oh," Rogers forced a kind of barking laugh, "it's unlike Bucky to march himself up for punishment."

"Yeah that's what I thought too. 'Course, it turned it out he had an agenda of his own," Tony told his whiskey glass, which he was swirling pointlessly in his hand.

"Oh?" If Rogers was going for casual, he was failing as miserably as Tony was.

"Yeah, wanted to tell me the story of some past, err… indiscretions. Seemed to think I'd be sympathetic, given some of the rumours of my own."

"And were you? Sympathetic, I mean?" Rogers was bright guy it seemed, because he was sat bolt upright, eyes trained on Tony as if he was about to reveal the true meaning of life.

"I…" and Tony hesitated and looked away again because this was really it, what he said now would determine everything. He gulped, trying to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. "I was."

He should have stopped there, should have let hang, dramatic and pregnant with unspoken meaning, but Tony had never been good at keeping his mouth shut. "I mean, I'm a sympathetic guy, you know, sometimes. Not always, which I admit is something of a flaw, but we all have them after all, and I like to think that I'm sympathetic when it-."

"Stark. Shut up." When Tony worked up the courage to look back at him, Rogers was standing but hadn't made any move to closer. He was waiting, Tony realised, for him to do something but Tony didn't know what that something was so he just stared at him until the silence got awkward.

"Oh for god sake Stark, say something." Roger finally frustratedly exclaimed.

"You just told me to shut up," Tony responded sulkily.

Rogers made a guttural sound that was creepily like a growl. At least, it was probably creepy. It certainly made Tony's skin tingle.

"Why do you always make things difficult?" Rogers gave the coffee table a little shove with his calf, sending it halfway across the room and his tonic water splattering over the expensive carpet. Tony didn't have time to complain though because Rogers was already pulling him out his chair and pressing a kiss to his startled mouth.

"You know, I never took you for the Neanderthal type," Tony informed him as soon as Rogers broke away. He grinned at the offended look he received and dragged the caveman into another kiss before he could protest the label.

They yanked each other's clothes off right there in the middle of the living room and all Tony could think was 'Thank God for black-out curtains' as he dragged Rogers to floor so he could kiss and bite and lick every inch of skin on the man's amazing chest. Then he tried scramble his brains by using his mouth in other ways, and it had been a while, but from the sounds Rogers made, it was just like riding a bike. He was feeling pretty proud of himself until Rogers pushed him on his back and proved that the love life of an asthmatic runt was not as scanty as he'd once believed. (Either that or he'd been taking every advantage that becoming an engineered Adonis had thrown themselves his way.)

Afterwards, Rogers lay beside him, politely waiting for Tony to get his breath back and stop seeing stars.

"So I guess I should call you Steve now," was his less than eloquent attempt at conversation once he'd regained the ability to speak.

"Sure, _Anthony_."

Tony shuddered in horror; no one had called him Anthony since his family butler had retired. "Jesus, no. Tony, please."

Rogers, _Steve,_ laughed, warm and comfortable, "OK. As long as you don't call me Stevie. It's bad enough when Bucky does it."

And then it was silent again and it wasn't uncomfortable but Tony felt like it _should_ be, so he broke it because lack of awkwardness made him awkward somehow. "So, when did you realise you wanted a piece of this?" He gestured to himself weakly.

"The first time I saw you," Steve admitted, "I thought you were one of the most beautiful men I'd even seen."He spoke with such sincerity that Tony almost wanted a bomb to land on their building, just so he didn't have to face it. Then, Steve started to smirk, "So I was kind of relieved when I found out you were an asshole."

"Hey!" Tony protested, his embarrassment sizzling away under indignation. Steve just laughed again, a playful look in his eyes. He turned on his side and rested his head on his hand so he could look down at Tony who was still spread-eagled.

"So how about me?"

"Are you kidding? I wanted to drag you off to my bedroom the minute you walked out of that machine. I thought we'd accidentally dialled Mount Olympus or something." Tony let his hand explore the curves and ridges of Steve's body, feeling almost drunk from the fact that he could. "Of course, back then I probably wouldn't have called you after." He lied.

"And now?" Steve inquired with an amused smile.

"Oh yeah, I'd definitely call. Repeatedly. It would be pathetic." Tony assured him, "You'd probably just change your number."

"I don't think I would," Steve dissented. "But as I don't have a phone, I guess we'll never know."

"Probably for the best. I'm told I'm much better in person."

"Agreed," Steve smiled and then kissed him again.

 **Afterword**

 **3 months later**

"You cannot be serious."

"It's been tested. Foster supervised and everything."

"Oddly, that doesn't make me feel any more confident about it."

"Come on, it even flies. How can you not love that?"

"That makes it more terrifying."

"Trust me."

"I trust you with my life. It's _your_ life I'm worried about."

"It'll be worth it. Think of all the good I could do."

"I like you safe."

"I like you safe too but I don't get any say in it so neither do you."

"Yes, actually, I do. If you're doing this, you're doing it with me, on my team."

"...Deal. It's the only team that would take something as crazy as this anyway."

"I just hope I don't regret it."

(And he didn't. Not when Tony took him flying over the London landscape; not when Tony saved Barnes from a long drop off a train in the mountains; and certainly not when he saved them both from a plane crash-landed in the middle of the Arctic Circle.)


End file.
